


Hobbit Sneak Peeks

by Jezunya



Series: Sneak Peeks [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Six Sentence Sunday, Sneak Peeks, WIP Wednesday, backdated, fic excerpts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2020-12-14 18:14:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21020105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jezunya/pseuds/Jezunya
Summary: Bits from the Hobbit fics I'm working on...





	1. TUA 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit from Truth Universally Acknowledged, the Hobbit fic that has been relentlessly eating my brain for the last three or four days. It’s got some AU elements (like Tauriel living in the Shire, hello) that will be explained in time, but is set in otherwise-canon Middle Earth. Kili/Tauriel and Bilbo/Thorin, with the rest of the usual cast along making mischief…

“I must ask you to disarm,” a voice says from above just as a tall figure – too tall for a man, far, far too tall to be a dwarf, much less a halfling – steps out into the gap in the hedgerow before them, silhouetted by the lights and the noises of the party beyond, “before I can allow you to continue any further.”  
  
“Oi! Stand aside!” Dwalin growls from behind him, while Thorin sizes up their foe through hooded eyes. That infernal buzzing still sounds in his ears, louder than ever, somehow, and still rising.  
  
The elf’s hand rises to one of two blades sheathed across her shoulders. “Drop your weapons,” she says, “or I will have to take them from you.”  
  
“You try it—” Dwalin sputters, while Balin pipes up from Thorin’s other shoulder, “This is Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, Lord of Erebor and King Under the Mountain! And he disarms for no one!”  
  
“You are quite far from you kingdom,” the she-elf retorts, eyes narrowing, meeting Thorin’s and holding, “_Boy King._”  
  
Thorin feels his eyes widen, rage swelling in his chest, the ringing in his ears crescendoing, climbing higher and higher, louder and louder, piercing and insistent, pulsing in frantic time to his heartbeat, something like the heat of battle coursing through his veins, and his fingers just close around the hilt of his sword when a new voice breaks through the cacophony.  
  
“What’s all this?” The question is accompanied by a pattering of bare feet round the corner off to the left, and Thorin’s gaze cuts over to the approaching hobbit while the ringing in his ears reaches new heights, like all the anvils in all the forges of Erebor and Moria together have been struck as one, deafening him, drowning out all other sounds but _that voice_, all other sights gone hazy but for the slight figure walking towards him.  
  
The elf says something, something muffled and far away, something that makes the hobbit turn from meeting Thorin’s gaze to look up at her instead, and Thorin would direct a ferocious glare at her too but that would mean allowing his eyes to stray from this halfling, and that is something Thorin simply _cannot do_—  
  
The hobbit looks at him again, blinking a few times, brows furrowed, and then he says, “I’m afraid she’s right. Tauriel here is our, erm, Guardian, you could say, Guardian of the Shire, officially, in fact. We’re all quite fond of her, you see, and we do prefer that no weapons be carried here, except when absolutely necessary. Ask any hobbit here and they’ll back her up—”  
  
“_Fine!_” Thorin cuts short the rambling, throwing his sword to the ground at the halfling’s feet – not at the elf’s, _never _at an elf’s feet, and certainly not one of the all too recognizable ginger elves of the Mirkwood – before stalking past into the bright, boisterous noise of the party. He hears the others following suit behind him, blades and sheaths and hammers clanging dully against each other on the ground, and Thorin allows himself only one glance back to again catch the wondering gaze of that accursed hobbit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Thorin just met his One and doesn’t realize it :D)


	2. Dwarf culture oneshot

“Do hobbits never have two mams?” Kíli asks, curious and, if Bilbo’s not mistaken, just a touch affronted.  
  
“_Two—?!_” Bilbo splutters. “And how would _that _work?!” He sees in his mind bizarre images of dwarven children born like puzzle pieces that must then be assembled, a head from this mother, an arm from that, a torso or legs here—  
  
“Not two _mothers_,” Fíli breaks in, jostling his brother with a sharp elbow. “He means two, er— Well, two mothers who _raise_ you.”  
  
_Oh—_ And suddenly Bilbo gets it. “Your— Your mother— Thorin’s sister—”  
  
“Dís,” the lads say together, smiling warmly.  
  
“—is wed to another woman?”  
  
“Yes!” Kíli exults, clearly pleased with Bilbo’s stumbling comprehension.  
  
Fíli, however, is scowling at him. “Do they not have this in the Shire?” he questions, voice low.  
  
“Oh— Oh, no, we do, we do!” Bilbo rushes to assure them. “Lads and lasses of all stripes are quite free to do whatever they please, especially when it comes to matters of the heart.” He falters then, gaze switching between the brothers, who both nod and smile at him now – but his curiosity will not be banked, it seems. “I’m sorry, perhaps it’s improper of me to ask, but— with two, er, mothers, how is it…” Twin pairs of blue eyes blink at him, uncomprehending, and Bilbo feels the heat spreading from his ears down across his cheeks. He pushes on, though, regardless. “It’s just— How is it they were able to have children? Where did you two _come from_, if your parents are both women?”  
  
“Oh,” Kíli says, sitting back slightly, as though he had never considered this question, just as Fíli answers succinctly, “Uncle Thorin.”  
  
Bilbo tenses and glances around himself, half-expecting to find the regal dwarf looming over his shoulder, face dark as storm clouds and eyes flashing icily— but no, they’re still alone, the others scattered across the camp and huddled in their own conversations, so why—  
  
Oh.  
  
_Oh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For WIP Wednesday, here’s a chunk from a mid-quest (and pre-slash bagginshield) Hobbit one-shot I’m now working on that jumped out at me very suddenly last night when I should have been sleeping. This comes from:
> 
> 1\. reading waaaay too much of the Tolkien Companion + the LoTR wiki and yet finding no info anywhere on who Fili & Kili’s father was  
2\. wondering how lesbian couples would work in dwarven society, if dwarf women are as rare as many seem to think they are  
3\. wondering what exactly ‘sister-sons’ means when the more simple 'nephews’ would make just as much sense there in English
> 
> The answers I came up with, and which have been demanding quite adamantly that I write them out in story form, are:
> 
> 1\. nowhere does it say that Dis isn’t a lesbian, so ha, I can do whatever I want!  
2\. I don't like fiction where women aren’t just as free as their male counterparts to marry whomever they choose, but also when your race is like 80% male there’s got to be a certain amount of both sociological and biological urge for those who can to procreate, regardless of orientation, and the social convention for f/f couples to achieve that is to use your partner’s unmarried male relative(s) as sperm donor(s), and so approximate the closest genetic thing to actually having a child with your same-sex partner  
3\. 'sister-son’ here would be a literal translation of a Khuzdul word meaning 'child I donated sperm to create but is not actually mine,’ as, in this headcanon at least, dwarves reckon parentage by who gave birth to you + who they are married to, so having Thorin’s genetic material still wouldn’t make him their father in dwarven culture. Oh and also that Dis’ partner, whom I’ve named Mirin, gave brith to both of them (no Dis/Thorin babies, no Durincest here, nope nope nope)  
4\. Fun with culture and language barriers! :D
> 
> And good god this explanation is as long as the fic itself…


	3. THaTH 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the first chapter of To Halve and To Hold

“I regret that we have been forced to meet under such circumstances,” the dwarf intones, thick arms folded over his great barrel chest, “but once our quest is complete, I will send for you, or return in person so that we might court properly.”  
  
“_C-court?!_” Bilbo chokes, and Thorin’s dark brows draw together into a scowl.  
  
“Yes,” he snaps. “Unless you are already wed to another?”  
  
“No, I’m not—” Bilbo answers automatically, before catching himself. He marshals his best returning glare, determined to stand his ground against this infuriating, intimidating, _tall _dwarf, at least while he’s still in his own home! He draws himself up to his full – admittedly meager – height, hands firmly on his hips. “I am _not _married, though I don’t see how that is any of _your _business. I don’t know why you’re all staring at me, and I’m afraid I must say I would really appreciate it if you stopped, as I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re on about.”  
  
Thorin is squinting at him as if he thinks Bilbo must be exceedingly thick. “You are my One,” he says simply, slowly, enunciating each word with great care.  
  
Bilbo blinks up at him with a blank frown and asks, “One what?”  
  
A murmur of astonishment goes through the dwarves, and Thorin rears back slightly, looking more and more thunderous with each passing second.  
  
“If I may,” Gandalf says then, inserting himself into the discussion once more, and there is the curl of a barely suppressed chuckle in his voice, as if Bilbo is missing out on some very fine joke. “There is much lost in translation, I’m afraid, and I think I may be able to help explain.” He pauses, waiting for some sort of response, but Thorin doesn’t so much give his assent as refuse to move his daggered stare from Bilbo’s face.  
  
“What’s this all about, Gandalf?” Bilbo asks, striving to temper his tone yet finding he is equally unwilling to forfeit the staring contest with the dwarf lord.  
  
“Dwarves have an ancient tale,” Gandalf begins, settling himself more comfortably on the bench against the wall, “from the time when the Valar formed the world. Aulë, whom they call Mahal, their Maker, cut the dwarves from the living stone of the world, and some of those pieces, it is said, were hewn in two.”  
  
“Meaning…?” Bilbo prompts, frowning. Thorin, if anything, looks only more offended.  
  
The wizard’s smile is clearly evident in his voice. “One soul in two bodies.”  
  
“_Soulmates?!_” Bilbo yelps, and finally looks away. “And you think that— that I am—?!”  
  
“I do not _think_,” Thorin cuts him off, drawing Bilbo’s gaze back to him. “I _know_. A dwarf always recognizes their One upon sight.” Behind him, the other dwarves exchange nods and meaningful looks, as if that is all there is to it, one word from their leader and it’s a done deal as far as they’re concerned!  
  
It is Gandalf he appeals to again, after gawping like a fish for several seconds. “But I’m not a dwarf!” Bilbo cries, spinning to face the wizard in desperation.  
  
“No,” Gandalf agrees slowly, and there is a twinkle in his eye now that Bilbo distinctly does not like. “You may not be carved from stone as they are, but perhaps there is a bit of a hard pebble at your core, packed in soft earth.”  
  
“Soft is right,” Thorin Oakenshield snorts, and Bilbo rounds on him, mouth open to give him _quite _a piece of his mind, but the dwarf cuts him off. “Tell me, Master Hobbit,” he growls, “have you any experience in combat? Are you trained with either sword or axe?” he asks. “Or any other weapon for that matter?”  
  
“I— Well.” Bilbo huffs, folding his arms across his chest. “I’ve some skill at conkers, if you must know.”  
  
“As I thought,” the dwarf says with a nod and a little twist to his mouth as he turns away, hands clasped behind his back. “You would not last a day in the wilds, and I cannot slow this venture in order to accommodate you.”  
  
“Ah— _Accommodate _me?!” Bilbo squawks, and gestures wildly at the clustered dwarves watching them from his dining room. “No, I shouldn’t expect _dwarves _to be terribly accommodating, not if they’re the sort of folk to barge into a stranger’s home and raid their pantry without so much as a by-your-leave!”  
  
Thorin stills at that, and then he turns a truly blistering glower on his company.  
  
“We… We didn’t know he was your…” one of the young ones – Kíli? Víli? – starts, but then trails off into pathetic silence under the force of that glare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Thorin comes looking for a burglar, finds his One instead, and then proceeds to be a complete ass to him. He doesn’t want Bilbo to come on the quest because he intends to keep his (oh so soft & squishy) soulmate safe in the Shire until he has a kingdom to return to - but of course the best way to get a hobbit to do something is to tell them they can’t :D


	4. ThaTH 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More from that soulmates au for WIP Wednesday :D

“What is that?” Bilbo asks, unable to quash his curiosity as he frowns over at the long sheaf of paper in the dwarf’s hands.  
  
Thorin glances at him and begins folding it up once more. “It… _was _to be your contract.”  
  
“Contract?”  
  
“A contract of employment and promise of repayment for the services of a burglar to enter the Lonely Mountain,” Thorin murmurs, the paper collapsing down into a thick packet topped with a wax seal. “One fourteenth of all the wealth therein in exchange for retrieving the Arkenstone, the symbol of the king, from among the dragon’s hoard.”  
  
“D-dragon?!” Bilbo chokes. Just what had Gandalf thought to sign him up for?! Thorin looks over at him with a deep frown, but Bilbo waves him off, struggling to get ahold of the lightheaded feeling creeping up on him – he will not, actually, be facing down any dragons any time soon, after all, he reminds himself, so there’s no sense in growing faint over it. “Well,” he says, and his voice cracks terribly, but Bilbo swallows thickly and pushes on. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not going with you then, as I am not a burglar at all, regardless of whatever that meddling old wizard may have told you.”  
  
“Hm,” Thorin agrees, and looks away, down at the folded parchment in his hands. He gives a quiet sigh and then casts the packet into the fireplace, the smoldering embers quickly catching around its edges, and with a bright burst of orange flame, the contract begins to disappear before Bilbo’s eyes.  
  
He has to hold in a soft cry at the sight; the burning of a contract he had no business or intention of even considering, let alone signing, should not fill him with any sense of loss.  
  
“I am not surprised,” Thorin says then, drawing Bilbo’s gaze back up from the fire. “I would have thought you a grocer before a burglar,” he comments, and when he glances at Bilbo again, there is a little tick at the corner of his mouth, the barest hint of a smile – as if he thinks such a statement should somehow endear him to Bilbo!  
  
“Well!” Bilbo huffs, drawing himself up. “I’ll have you know I am a gentlehobbit, a Baggins of Bag End, no grocer or tradesman or, or— And not that there is anything wrong with being a grocer!” he adds, glaring up at the dwarf as he blinks down at Bilbo, apparently dumbfounded. “It is a perfectly respectable profession for any hobbit of the Shire, not that I could expect a dwarf to appreciate that! You probably wouldn’t know a radish from a strawberry, let alone where to purchase the best—”  
  
“Peace, halfling,” Thorin growls, apparently having found his voice again, “I meant no insult.”  
  
Bilbo stops his blustering and squints tightly up at him. “You know, I think you did, actually,” he hisses, and is pleased to see a slight flush accompany the frown that creases the dwarf’s face: caught red handed, and they both know it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic really needs a title, yall… Right now I’ve got “Be Your Gold” (from Mumford & Son’s “Lover of the Light” which is such a perfect bagginshield song ydek) or “To Halve and to Hold” …because they’re soulmates, two halves of a whole, ha, get it? Ha ha… Anyway. I’m all ears if anyone’s got any ideas.


	5. TUA 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit from Truth Universally Acknowledged for this WIP Wednesday, in which, this time, it is Kili meeting his One for the first time.

Golden light surrounds her, all the choirs of all the halls of all the dwarves who have ever lived are singing in his ears, roaring their joy and praises, for surely this glorious being is the most beautiful creature to have ever graced the surface of Arda, surely this voice is the only one Kíli’s ears have ever sought to hear, surely this face has been carved upon his eyelids all these many years and he has simply, somehow, never known.  
  
The Longing sings within him, jubilant, brighter than the sun and all the stars together, hotter than any forge that has ever burned, suffusing him with its heat, its certainty, its rightness as Kíli gazes, at last, on the other half of his soul.  
  
His One glances at him, briefly, after his uncle has gone ahead and she has stopped both his brother and Mister Dwalin to relieve them of a few more of their hidden knives before sending them on their way as well. It is only a quick flicker of warm brown eyes, taking in his form from head to toe caps, sending tiny mountain peaks chasing all across his skin, and then, somehow, inexplicably, she begins to turn away.  
  
“Aren’t you going to search me?” Kíli asks, quick, not desperate so much as, well— She looks back, though, one slender brow raised as she gazes down at him again, and Kíli swallows, because she is looking at him, she has seen him, she knows him. He goes on with a small smirk, “I could be hiding anything down my trousers.”  
  
“Or nothing,” she replies smoothly, and though she does leave then, Kíli could swear he sees a small smile at the corner of her lips as she turns from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea Kili was such a schmoopy romantic poet boy until I wrote this bit, lmao. (And yes, I HAD TO get that exchange in the fic)


	6. ThaTH 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More from To Halve and To Hold for WIP Wednesday, in which Thorin is still an asshole, but at least he’s not being an asshole specifically to Bilbo this time ;)

“And so you mean to leave your soulmate behind, where anything might happen to him without your knowledge?”  
  
“He will be safe here,” Thorin insists, shaking his head. “These are peaceful lands. So long as he remains anonymous, there is no reason his life should be in any greater danger than it was before.”  
  
“Hm,” the wizard grunts as he lights his pipe with a flicker of flame from the tip of his finger. “Yes, none will come seeking him so long as they do not know of his connection to you, but he could still very well fall into the Baranduin and drown tomorrow afternoon, and you would be powerless to do anything about it, far away as you will be.”  
  
“Tharkûn—” he bites out savagely, for such a thought is treacherous and painful to even hear.  
  
“Not to mention, he has been seen in the company of thirteen dwarves, or rather has been seen taking said company into his home for the night,” Gandalf continues blandly. “Perhaps they would not immediately connect him to you personally, Thorin, but gossip travels quickly in the Shire and, believe me, the presence of dwarves in these parts is quite gossip-worthy amongst hobbits.” He puffs on his pipe and levels his ancient gaze on the dwarf king. “Such gossip could easily reach the wrong ears in Bree, and you yourself know what unsavory characters often happen through those taverns.”  
  
Thorin grits his teeth, turning away. What the wizard claims is possible, he knows it, knows all too well from his own experiences when he was chasing rumors of his father’s movements. There is a price on his head, and those who would seek such a bounty would not hesitate to use his One against him, as leverage, as ransom, or simply as a means to weaken him, to snuff out that fragile little life just for the pain it would cause Thorin.  
  
And his very presence here, at least according to Gandalf, may have already condemned Bilbo to such a fate.  
  
“No.” Thorin shakes his head, steeling his resolve once more. “If such foulness were wont to venture here, they would have already done so,” he says, turning to look at the old man again. “Besides, it is well known that the Dúnedain prowl beyond these borders. They have long kept the Shire safe and peaceful, and I see no reason why they should stop any time soon.”  
  
“So you would rely on others, of whom you know little generally and nothing personally, to look after your One,” Gandalf replies, and Thorin cannot help bristling, for all that he knows the wizard is trying to rile him up.  
  
“I will rely on the same forces and anonymity that have afforded him a safe existence thus far!” he snarls in return. “And I certainly will not put his life in greater peril by bringing him along on this quest!”


	7. TUA 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WIP Wednesday: from my Pride & Prejudice au fic, Truth Universally Acknowledged, in which Dís worries over what it means that Kíli’s quest for his One has led them to the Shire… but Kíli’s not the one who’s going to end up with a hobbit soulmate, of course ;)

They could be with a caravan, she and Balin had mused together – and were met only with irritable grunts from her brother – a trader, a blacksmith, a merchant come to sell metalwork from the Blue Mountains. The route to Erebor passes right through these regions, and Dís herself is personally fond of the sweet pipeweed the traders often bring with them from the Shire. There might be just such a group past the western borders of the halflings’ lands, moving towards them, coming east as the party from Erebor travels west, set on a collision course with them as both younglings are drawn inexorably towards their other half.  
  
It could still be a dwarf.  
  
It _could_, she tells herself, but the chances seem more and more slim every time Dís looks at her youngest child. She pauses in the corridor outside the room her boys have claimed as their own, watching through the round, open doorway as they unpack their layers of mail and weapons, unstrapping sheathes and belts and wiping away the dust of the road before settling their things around the two soft-looking beds on either end of the room. Fíli chatters on in his quiet, steady way as he inspects his blades, filling the silence easily as his younger brother responds with nothing more than distracted murmurs, his dark head tilting this way and that as if he is listening to a faraway sound only he can hear.  
  
Dís has seen this before; she knows what these signs mean. The Longing is like a cord pulled taut, connecting the two halves of the soul to each other, ever pulling them towards one another. For the direction of that pull to change as suddenly and often as Kíli’s actions suggest means that they’re extremely close, likely within a few miles of each other, near enough for Kíli to sense his One’s every turn and movement. Such a small distance indicates that his One is somewhere within the confines of the Shire, and unless there’s another dwarf contingent in the immediate area that they somehow missed on their journey through the rolling hills and quaint villages on the way here, that can mean only one thing:  
  
Her son’s other half is a hobbit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Kíli’s other half is not a hobbit, in case that wasn’t clear. Dís just currently has no way of knowing about a certain displaced elf chick who also happens to live in the Shire…)


	8. Modern ME oneshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short excerpt from In the Manner of Elves for #WIPWednesday. It’s a Modern Middle Earth AU oneshot I’m finishing up for the anniversary next month, in which Bilbo & Thorin are having dinner at a fancy elf restaurant for their anniversary. They are ridiculous and schmoopy and I made absolutely no effort to stop them ;D

It’s amazing, really, Bilbo thinks, his lips lingering for a moment against his husband’s skin, how deftly Thorin can lighten his mood with just a few well-placed words, just the touch of his hand. Even more amazing is how he, a crotchety old loner long before his time, more interested in his books than other people even back in uni, could have possibly ended up sharing his life with such a kind, sweet, simply _good _person as Thorin. It is beyond Bilbo’s comprehension sometimes, especially given the rocky start to their friendship all those years ago. Thorin turns his hand over, gently cupping the side of Bilbo’s face, and he sighs contentedly, resting his cheek against that broad palm. Beyond his comprehension, but certainly not something he is ever going to question.  
  
“_You truly are the most beautiful being in this light, my love,_” Thorin whispers in Khuzdul, leaning in a little so Bilbo can hear him. “_Like you’ve been wrought from gold and amber._”  
  
“_I still prefer starlight,_” Bilbo whispers back, nuzzling at Thorin’s palm and looking over at his husband with hooded eyes, his own smile widening as the dwarf drops his gaze, looking bashful and quietly pleased. Thorin looks wonderful now, of course, in his sharp dark suit with the top two buttons of his shirt left open, the warm light bringing out the faint red tones in his dark hair – he always looks wonderful to Bilbo’s eyes, frankly, traditional dwarven beauty standards be damned – but there is simply nothing comparable to the sight of his husband under a clear night sky, the moon’s silver light gilding his hair and skin like the most precious of metals, like something kingly and ancient. He’s reminded in those moments of the old mythology, the tales still regarded as sacred history in some circles, of how the dwarves were hewn from living stone and crowned with stars, how their bones were made of solid mithril and their veins ran with quicksilver.  
  
More presently, it reminds Bilbo of nighttime skinny dipping on their honeymoon years ago.


End file.
